


Trigger

by ko_writes



Series: Fandot Creativity Night - 26/09/15 [2]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Angst, Catharsis, Eating Disorders, Fat Shaming, Gen, Possibly OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 13:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4878979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ko_writes/pseuds/ko_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: I wanted that one</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trigger

   It is never a person’s fault… not exactly. Only triggers.

   People can provide these triggers, but it’s mainly down to brain chemistry, the wiring of a person’s psyche.

   That’s what Martin kept telling himself; that fact, played on loop, always circling his in his head.

   It hurt. The guilt _hurt_. However, he couldn’t let it show – oh no, stiff upper lip – in case someone were to see and _know_.

* * *

 

_“But I wanted that one!” Douglas whines, voice petulant._

_“But I had it first,” He shrugs, motioning with the wedge of brie he had in his hand, “And besides, **it’s not like you need it**.”_

* * *

 

   God, he fucked up.

   God, he fucked Douglas up.

   The way he acted… Martin didn’t know he had a weakness. He didn’t know his self-esteem was so low. Sure, he acted like a cruel bastard; he just wanted to shut him up for a little while, he didn’t know _why_ he said that. It was a cheap shot.

   He had hurt Douglas. He had shut him up.

   He had also scarred him, adding to a collection of scars he didn’t know about.

* * *

 

_“What are you implying?”_

_“You know what I’m implying.”_

* * *

 

   It _was_ his fault.

   Douglas had been recovered, settled into a mentality that was healthier than before; but it was a fragile thing, and Martin had destroyed it.

He tore it down without a thought.

* * *

 

   _“I don’t know what you mean.”_

_“Yes you do.”_

* * *

 

   He’d seen the photos Carolyn showed him now.

   So thin…

   So sad…

   So drawn…

   Pilot’s jacket hanging of his tiny frame and hollowed cheeks and eyes.

   Relapse was a filthy word.

* * *

 

_“Pushing away the food now, are you?” He inquires._

_“I’ve lost my appetite.”_

* * *

 

   Lost. Lost and never found. Lost in the deep, swirling, black waters of his mind.

   Along with the man himself.

   The man who’s in Douglas’ place isn’t him. Doesn’t live. Doesn’t eat. Barely drinks. Sleeps too much. No longer a pilot.

   Martin Crieff, like a son to Douglas, killed him; now a shell lives in his place.

   Because that is the fragility of the thing. That is why words hurt.

   The media, comedians, public; they all throw them easily, without a thought of their affect.

Martin knew that now, and swore to God it would never happen again.

   He swore to God, on his immortal soul, that he would never do that again.


End file.
